


No Warm Hand, Nor Desert Sands

by weaselett



Category: The Mummy Series
Genre: Backstory, F/F, F/M, M/M, Medjai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 02:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaselett/pseuds/weaselett
Summary: A story in three parts.





	1. Youth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedibuttercup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two boys grow from babes to men, starting on their paths to the place they will meet.

For a time, all he knew of his father was glimpses of a tall man in dark robes who would visit with his mother during the short summer nights. 

It was, as his mother and the other women explained, the way of things.

The men of the twelve tribes had a duty, as did the women, and that duty meant that many men could not stay long in the village. In time, they told him, he would learn why and then the time would come for him to follow his father into the desert. 

He clung to his mother then, refusing to allow the idea that he would ever leave her side, but she laughed, hands gentle on his face.

“Little warrior,” she smiled down at him, “in time you will understand.” 

“I will not leave you unprotected,” he told her solemnly, hands clenched into fists. 

She shook her head, motioning for him to follow her, away from their tent and towards the training grounds that he visited so rarely. “I have no need of your protection little one.” She led him to one of the rings, where his aunt and a younger girl fought. “Nia protects me, and I protect you, just as your father protects the world.”

Ardeth watched, hand caught in his mother's skirts, awed by the skill shown. His training had not yet fully begun, and the other boys were as lacking in grace as he. The women fought with more skill, he thought, than even his instructor. 

“Does father fight so well?” He whispered the question, unsure of whether he will be punished for doubting his father's skill. He was their chief, and they were warriors.

His mother laughed, crouching down beside him, a warm smile on her lips, “I think,” she whispered in kind, “your father and Nia are well matched.”

“I hope to be as fine a warrior.” Ardeth replied, wishing in his heart for it. No better honour could there be, than to follow his father's path. 

“In time, little warrior, and with patience,” His mother replied, her hand on his head. 

-

In his dreams, whispered to his mother as they laid side by side on her treasured rug, there was sand. 

There were other things; beautiful women, strong men, curved swords and huge stone buildings, but there was always sand. He remembered the sand so clearly he struggled to believe he had never seen it. Never felt sand beneath his feet. 

His mother took him, once the winter before she left, to the museum. She guided him through, past dinosaur bones, stuffed animals and stone, only allowing him to stop when they reached a room full of things that were almost familiar. 

“Egypt Rick.” She said as she let him pull her from case to case. “In your dreams, it sounds just like old Egypt.” 

He traced words engraved in stone, wishing that he could understand what they said, “Can we go there?”

His mother stilled, looking away for a moment, such a familiar response that he knew she was thinking of his father. She squeezed his hand as she turned back, pulling him in close as she crouched down, “Your father has been there, maybe he'll take us one day.”

Rick smiled, not challenging the words. He had no doubt of his mother's love, that she would give him anything, if it were in her power. 

Not when he stood in a room full of his dreams. 

-

The women of the Medjai were the the keepers of their history, guardians of the past and of the future. He learnt much at the feet of his mother and the other women. 

The centre piece of the village was the entrance to the vaults, where the histories were stored. The women without young children guarded the entrance, short blades on their hips. To wander close was to be called forward for the retelling of one of the old tales, and lessons in keeping watch. 

Sometimes, lessons in sneaking, if an elder was on guard.

Even when listening to another, one should be aware of their surroundings, so he was scolded many times by one or another of the guards. He learnt quickly and was rewarded. 

Grandmother took him into the tunnels, teaching him of the inscriptions laid into the walls by his ancestors. He learnt to find his path without light, tracing the carvings with fingertips. 

There were more scrolls in their holdings, he thought, than any other people could possibly dream of. He was, he later learnt, sheltered in the village, were the world seemed small and there was no one but the Medjai and their enemies. 

There might have been libraries, greater, full of more breadth of knowledge, than any guarded by his people, but none could compare in importance, in value of purpose.

-

The Egypt he discovered at his father's back was not the Egypt of his mother's telling. 

It was Cairo, full of noise and foreigners, searching for the latest finds of value. It was being judged as a tourist, as a looter, for his accent and his company. 

He learnt Arabic from the men in the bars his father frequented and from the old ladies his father paid to watch him while he was away. The men taught him caution, taught him the basics of self defence, while the old ladies took pity on him, motherless child. They told him of the old days, of legends, almost echoes of the stories his mother had found. 

His father was not a good man, but he wasn't a bad one either. He did what he did to get by, and Rick knew he missed his wife as much as his son missed his mother. 

They bonded, when his father caught him watching one of the card games. He learnt to be light fingered, the basic tricks to win against less wary players, and he learnt how to throw a good right hook. 

It hurt, when his father didn't return from the desert. 

When the lady, the last of the old ladies, dragged him to the orphanage the day after the uniformed man appeared at her door. He knew another end had come. 

His soldier father was gone, she said, and she had no place for him, when there was no money, no reward, for keeping him.

The women who looked after the children were not unkind, but they had limited time. The gentle words, and brisk care were only fleeting moments of each day. 

It was the men he finds reason to be most wary of. 

-

He was eight and on his path to becoming a warrior, when his father returned to the village. 

The first time he saw his father in full daylight, he saw an old man, bloody and worn. It was a reminder of what was to come, a reminder of their ways, his future.

When he left, when his time came, he too would return only briefly once every moon, and there would be no wife, no children for some time. 

A decade of service to his duty, then he would be given time, to find a wife, to continue the line, if he wished it so. His father, so his aunt told him after beating him in the ring, took two decades before seeking a wife. A choice judged wise, the other women told him, when his mother and aunt couldn't hear, for Ardeth was born so soon after they were wed, it must have been a blessed union. 

He felt the weight of it, and his father's gaze, as he trained. His mother had done nothing but approve of his progress, but his father was a cipher to him, and he wished nothing more than to prove worthy of the man's attention. 

“You fight well,” his father commented as they walked back to the family tent, once, some days after his return, “for your age.”

Ardeth bit his lip, it was a manner of a compliment, he supposed, “I am better with a sword than unarmed.” He offered eyeing the sword on his father's hip. 

His father's mouth twitched, almost a smile, “It is best to know many weapons, my son.”

Ardeth lowered his head to hide the colour that touched his cheeks, and offered no further conversation. 

There would come a time, his mother told him, when his father was with the elders, when they would converse freely as men, but Ardeth was young yet and his father was many years past his age. Akram, one of the older boys, told him that many of the fathers were the same. 

They were but boys, not yet men. How could they expect any different treatment than brisk commentary on their skills. 

The men were used to the company of other men, more experienced in the world. The boys of the village, they knew nothing but it's bounds and the tales the women tell. They were not worldly, not good company for their elders yet, the best he could hope for was that his father would take more of a hand in his training. 

It had been a moon of his father in the village, when a strange man, of another tribe, arrived and seeking an audience. 

The next day Ardeth's mother had him dress in his best robes before herding him out to the edge of the village where his father waited with the man and Ardeth's horse. 

-

The man watched Rick closely, and it became a challenge to himself, to stay out of the man's sight. 

He did not know what the man's intentions were, but equally he did not wish to learn them. There were men, in the bars and on the streets, who looked on boys like him in a way that made him uncomfortable. 

Rick sort out the boys who were brought to the city, with their tales of the desert, and spent all of his time with them, hiding on the roof and learning the stars. 

He had been in the orphanage almost a whole year when the men came, faces marked with tattoos, like an echo of the stories of desert tribes his father had told him, just before he left. 

They corner him in one of the rooms, the boy with them hanging back, eyes wide. 

He struggled, for a little while, then his body fell loose. The words of the elder man, spoken in Arabic, were unfamiliar yet he found himself answering in kind and it terrified him. 

He had so little control as it was, he didn't need another thing to fear, to dread. Didn't need his mind and body to betray him too, even as the dreams, faded then, rare, drifted to the front of his mind. 

He had seen marks like theirs before, a lifetime ago, in a museum with his mother at his side, and in dreams. 

They left him, exhausted and aching, on a pallet in one of the dorms, unsullied but embittered. 

He hid the mark, as soon as he laid his hands on a piece of cloth. 

They marked him, he supposed, for a reason, but that didn't mean he needed to let the world see it. 

-

When the time came Ardeth was happy to leave his mother, and the small village of his childhood behind. He wished his sisters well and clasped his younger brother's shoulder in solidarity before he kissesdhis mother on the forehead, ignoring her half hearted swat. 

He visited Nia one last time, biding her luck with his mother and siblings, accepting her blessing along with a fine blade in addition to the one left for him by his father. One can never have too many weapons, and Nia's was well tended and honed. 

She had seen battle as much, if not more, than the father of his blood. She had guided his hand, and it would be his honour to guide her blade with his. 

He felt her eyes, and that of her hawk, on his back as he rode away, leaving the safety of this youth behind. 

The desert welcomed him, as he expected it would, and he proved his worth in this last test, finding the men he was to join within three days. The commander of the group smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, grip a little tighter than necessary, teeth sharp. 

He watched his back, and learnt quickly which of the men were his friends, and which were his enemies. Not all men, as Nia had told him, were as bound to their duty as he. They laughed at the old tales, mocked the weaknesses of their ancestors, but enjoyed the kill. The hunt of those who dared to venture close to their territory. 

Ardeth avoided blooding his blades for as long as he could, but in the end, even he understood why some must die. They were the keepers of the deserts most deadly secrets, and to hold back would be to doom more. 

He did not enjoy it. 

He enjoyed killing the commander even less, and he took his father's ire, until the moment came for him to speak. The elders baulk in the face of his words, his father's cheeks colour, but they have no counter argument. 

He was his mother's child, the chiefs said, looking on him with some mix of wonder and ire. It was a surprise when he found that his actions had made him allies, far more than he had expected. 

He was a keeper of the old ways, of the true Medjai, the elders who came to him said. A reminder that some of them have wandered far from the path. 

Ardeth was given command of his own group, and placed closer to where the monster slept. One of the men taught him of guns, laughing at the lack of education of the young like him. 

The world was changing, the weapons of their ancestors might work against the army of Anubis, the man said, but they would not stand against guns and explosives. 

Ardeth felt his father's gaze heavy on him the first time he raised a gun, but that time he did not allow it to colour his actions. His path was his own, his honour his own, and he knew his duty.

-

He joined the Foreign Legion on a dare, drunk and high on the success of his latest job. He ignored the way Izzy cursed him as he packed up his belongings and headed to the quarters he'd been promised. 

He remembered his father in uniform, not the same, but close enough and it chafed. Rick was his father's son, he knew, his life's story was not so different from his father's. 

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he was nothing if not self aware. 

The war wasn't a surprise, but when the orders came he still hesitated. He joined on a dare, he could have left, could have run back to the country that he should have considered his home, the place that he had been dragged back to those last few years before he turned sixteen. 

But he was not that kind of man. 

Rick O'Connell decided that much, the day he walked out of the home of his maternal uncle, barely sixteen, and near moneyless. Rick O'Connell did not back down from a fight, didn't turn his back on the world. He protected those he could, did whatever it took to keep going. 

He learnt, by God did he learn, exactly what he was capable of. He did not relish killing, but he was a damn good shot and didn't baulk at battle, like so many others. 

He made friends, though really they were companions, company to keep away the dark.

Beni was not a good man, and he baulked. Given a choice Rick would take Izzy over Beni any day, but he didn't look at Rick the way many of the others did. Americans weren't popular, and he's strange, even for an American. So he took what company he could get.

-

The war was a challenge. 

Ardeth struggled in the long nights, with the separation from the rest of the world. He could not fight in the war, could not leave the sacred watch. 

Some did, his company reduced by a number, but he was bound to the path. He could not leave his post, especially not when there was such a great threat so close. 

The legend of the city lived in the minds of men. He had sat in bars in cities close by and listened to men speak of the treasure, of the money to be made from Hamunaptra. 

None speak of the monster, but that, he knew is because of the nature of the curse, a curse in of it's self. 

He watched the other men, aware of the rumble of descent, remembering the stories his mother and grandmother had told, of Medjai turning from their sacred duty, of folding to the temptation of such power. 

It was a part of the nature of men. He had learned that lesson well over the years, and he saw the power in the tales he was told as a boy, could see how easily men could misstep and become just like those painted as villains.

Lock-nah, one of his father's men, drew his attention whenever they crossed paths. The man had an anger, and inclination to violence, that concerned him. He tested his father, and was told in no uncertain terms that his concern had little foundation, but was the product of his own softer hand. 

Ardeth retreated from his father, unsurprised when the man found his way to Ardeth's camp a moon later, with an apology and a good horse. 

His father was feeling his age, and was all too aware that his son was his likely successor. Ardeth regretted that they could not be closer, that his father was unable to curb his urge to order, but he knew they were both set in their ways, in their characters. 

He also knew that he did, despite the occasions to the contrary, have his father's respect. He merely needed to work on his approach. He could not question his elders, only raise concerns. 

In time, perhaps he would be able to truly lead.

Until then, he must practice patience and caution.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardeth's journey.

Word of his father's death fails to reach him quickly enough. 

By the time the messenger comes, his horse dark with sweat, Lock-nah, the murderous traitor, is gone. He has done as Ardeth expected, turning to the darker world, seeking power and riches. He is out of Ardeth's reach, but the time will come, he feels sure, when Lock-nah will cross his path again.

He attends the funeral, standing with his family as they commit him to the rest according to their custom. He does not go back to the village with his mother and sisters, it is not yet his time, but he follows his elders to the council meeting, all too aware of the empty seat. 

It is a surprise to him, when they agree that he is to be his father's successor. He is still young, barely tested, and he has enemies. He is not sure their choice is a wise one.

The chiefs draw him into their circle, hands firm as they greet him and guide him through the late night ceremony. They are amused, scolding him for being surprised. 

He has won their support, where he has enemies among the less dutiful of their number, the chiefs see in him hope for the young men. Years have past with little to concern them, the sense of duty is dulled by the passage of time. 

He is an example, they tell him as they sit by the firelight, to those of his generation. 

He will, they say, wisely accept their choice, for they have experience enough to know it is for the best.

-

Many battles have been fought over Hamunaptra, few have ended in anything but the death of all on both sides. 

Ardeth watches the battle dispassionately, knowing he is witnessing the beginning of the end of the war in the desert. The two sides are not well matched, and he is surprised to find his attention drawn to a man from the weaker group. 

There is something almost familiar about the man that calls to him at first, but it is the strength that keeps his attention. 

His men's horses shift in the sun, restless, but they remain silent. The tide of the battle turns, just as he expected, blood running freely and feeding the sands over the monster's resting place. 

Eventually the monster has enough, the sand shifting with his anger and restlessness, driving the remaining men away, out into the desert, and most likely to their death. Only one flees at a slower pace, the man who has drawn his attention. 

There is no point in killing him, the desert will make it's choice. 

Even so, he tracks the man, from the desert to Cairo, impressed at the man's skill at survival against such odds. His men track the others, and all but one meet their end within a moon of leaving the city, one way or another. Such is typically the way.

Ardeth sets men to follow both survivors, rightfully wary of any men who are not Medjai and have survived Hamunaptra. Who can remember the path to the city.

Treasure is king in the eyes of many men. To have a map to one of the most sort after treasures, is to have a means to get even more. 

-

It is not a surprise when the attack on the boat fails. 

The men mutter, nursing injuries and their missing comrades. Ardeth knows, all too well, that they may well be driving the two parties to the very thing they do not want. 

The monster must not be found, must not rise, but there is something. It tugs on his instincts, whispers that the events in motion can not be so easily stopped. 

His uncle had been so sure that the girl, Evelyn, could be convinced not to pursue this. She is not guided by a want of wealth, like the others, but he sees another drive in her. 

There is something of his mother, of the women who raised him, in the girl. She wants the knowledge, wants to prove her self worthy, and that, he knows, is a far greater drive than even wealth. His uncle does not understand, but then few of the men do.

He feels it when they find the sarcophagus, his hands shake as he lowers the eyeglass. Time is turning against them and he must do something, or he will fail in his sacred duty. He can not repeat the failings of his ancestors, for all that it is they who have brought this upon the world. 

“We attack tonight.” He passes the order to his men and they prepare for battle, and the possibilty of death.

In the end, he still can not find it in himself to kill the man, nor allow him to kill himself. It, he thinks, may be a weakness.

-

As the tribes celebrate him in victory, he goes to the one place he may find a measure of solace. 

And he goes for guidance to the ones he trusts most. 

“My brother the victor,” His eldest sister greets him, child on her back, gun in her hands, at the edge of the village. Her partner on watch laughs and he remembers her as a child, fierce and bright, better than him with a sword. 

In the village, he is just another man returned from the desert. He has no place in their legends, and there is no weight of expectation. It is the greatest comfort to him, even as he struggles with himself.

“The men have many good things to say of you these days.” Indira smiles up at him as he steps into her tent, dark hair starting to grey in defiance of his memories. In his mind his mother will never be anything but young and strong, no matter what the years may bring.

“Far too many.” Ardeth returns, lowering himself onto the mat beside her, eyeing the tiny child in her arms. 

His mother offers a sad smile, rocking the baby gently when the boy squirms, “Your youngest nephew, he is in my charge until she is strong enough.”

Ardeth doesn't flinch. He is but one of twelve children born to his parents, and only seven live, such is the way of the desert. They are tested, in all the ways it is possible to be tested, and not all can survive such a life. 

“It lies heavy on you,” she observes, freeing a hand from the babe to push his hair back away from his face, dark eyes narrowing. “What is it, my most steadfast child, that gives you such pause?”

“My victory was born of failure.” Ardeth replies, fingers searching for something to occupy them, it has been years since his mother last scrutinised him so. He finds charcoal, cast off from the fire, his hands drawing out the words of the myth he has only just survived. 

“Only fools thought that the monster would lie undisturbed forever. To be defeated, he had to rise,” she is dismissive of his point, and his lips quirk into a smile. She taps him on the hand sharply, drawing his gaze, “That is not what troubles you.”

Ardeth sighs, “The man, O'Connell, I am drawn to him.”

Indira hums, looking down at her grandson for a moment, “There is no chance that he feels the same?”

Ardeth shakes his head, “He will marry the girl, Carnahan.” He thinks of them, so in love, riding into the sunset as he watched. It is not for him to interfere. They are not of his people, outside of the tribes, people do not live as they do within. 

Not openly. 

His mother stills, and he can feel a tension he has not felt in the air between them for years. She is keeping something from him, or debating a choice. He is unsure which he prefers.

“Indira?” It is Nia who breaks the silence, stepping into the tent and stilling as she catches sight of him. She smiles, edging closer to pull him into her embrace, her grip a little tighter than it need be. “The hero returns.” 

He pulls away, colour high on his cheeks, “I came to escape such words.”

Nia raises an eyebrow, looking to his mother, “That, I suspect, is only part of your reason for coming here.”

His mother nods, “He hides things no better from us than he did as a boy.” 

Nia looks between them, her gaze as critical as his mother's mere moments before, “It is time to tell him all.” The humour is gone, her tone as serious as on the training grounds, and his mother nods a reluctant consent. 

“There will be another test for you soon my son, the time of the Scorpion King's return draws near.”

Ardeth feels his blood chill, and he reaches out to his nephew, needing to feel the warm flesh of one living. Few of their legends are full of anything but danger, but threat of the army that could rise is greater than even the monster just barely laid. 

“You are certain?”

Nia rolls her eyes and his mother cuffs him over the head, “You think I would say such things if it were not?”

He bows his head in apology and she relents, deflating and drawing Nia to her side. 

“We have known this since not long after your birth,” Nia takes up the tale, hand resting on his mother's shoulder, “When your father took you to Cairo, when you were a boy, it was to complete a task, to check that things had been read correctly.”

“The boy?” Ardeth questions, even as his mind screams an answer to a question he had barely asked. 

“The same as the man, O'Connell.” His mother provides, lips quirking into a smile briefly. 

“He is Medjai?” 

Nia tilts her head, “Of a manner, he is a protector of man, and he has a path to follow.”

“There will be a child,” his mother almost whispers the words, reaching out to grip his hand, “they will have a part to play in what comes to pass.” His mother hesitates, “We can tell you no more, for we dare not test fate. Read the scrolls, memorise all about the Scorpion King, for you will need it soon enough.”

She pauses, her grip tightening on his hand, “Know, my son, that there is hope yet for your heart, for there is much yet to come.”

“Allah be willing to guide you safely through.” Nia adds, “We can not predict the future with certainty, there are choices to be made, but you and the other men should face it prepared.”

Ardeth nods, understanding her meaning. They will need an army, and a plan, should the Scorpion King rise, and the army of Anubis with him. Swords again will be their most valuable weapon, for no gun will kill one of those terrible soldiers.

“You give me a difficult task.”

Nia smiles, “You have broad enough shoulders, and stubborn enough head, to bear it.”

-


	3. Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In time, good things come to those who have earned them.

Ardeth does not return to his people after the battle. 

He is exhausted, battle worn, but victorious. The men of the twelve tribes left as soon as it was clear that Anubus's Army has been laid to rest. There are, after all, other things to guard. 

His heart, however, is elsewhere. 

He considers the future as he waits in the desert, knowing that he can make no choices until he knows what has become of them. 

He watches the oasis consume it's self, hoping that his friends will survive. The horse circles the spot, sensing his conflict. He thinks of the tent he considers home, where there will be another empty space, his loyal Horus taken from him by the same man who took his father. 

Now though, finally, Lock-nah can take nothing more from him.

He laughs as he spots the airship rising into the sky, joy filling his chest he allows his horse to dance. They have beaten the odds, they have won through once more. 

He salutes them, smile bright, then turns his horse to head into the desert. 

He knows where they are headed, and he will meet them there, for there are things that need to be said.

-

Nefertiri comes for him in the night, with gentle hand and kind smile. Her grip is firm as she leads him to O'Connell's bed, the other man newly awake, his wife's absence enough to wake him from deep sleep. 

Ardeth stills by the bedside, unsure. This is not the wife guiding him to the husband, Evelyn can not wish him to have what is hers, he will not betray them because a woman long dead has led him astray. 

“Ardeth?” O'Connell's voice is hoarse, tainted by uncertainty as he looks up at them, his chest bare. 

“O'Connell.” He knows not what more to say. 

Nefertiri laughs, it is the same as Evy's laugh, merry and content, “I have brought him to you.” She tells O'Connell, moving forward to kiss him gently on the lips. His gaze turns weary, clearly as uncertain in the face of this woman who is not his wife as Ardeth. 

“Evy....”

She presses a finger to his lips, shaking her head, and it Evy who speaks, “Rick, after all the years we've had, I think I know you well enough to know what you want.” She looks back towards Ardeth, eyes bright with mischief, “What you are both trying to deny yourselves.”

She presses another kiss to O'Connell's lips then draws back, reaching out to pull Ardeth closer, tutting when he resists. 

“Evelyn...” Ardeth starts his own opposition, and she groans, throwing up her hands and silencing them both. 

She mock glares, then leans in to press her lips against Ardeth's cheek, “I am happy to share him with you Medjai. We all deserve our happiness.” She points a finger at O'Connell, both Nefertiri and Evy in this moment, “Please, no more denials.”

O'Connell sags back onto the bed in the face of her, the expression on his face making Ardeth ache to touch. He knows what the other man is thinking of, death is a friend to no one. 

Silence drags, before O'Connell looks at him, colour raising in his cheeks for a moment before he looks to his wife, “Evelyn...”

She shakes her head, expression fond, “tonight, I want my son in my arms, and for all of my boys to be happy.” Evy smiles at them, reaching out to touch her husband's face before she turns and leaves them alone. 

O'Connell clears his throat, rubbing one hand across the back of his head and drawing Ardeth's attention to the bare skin of his arms. “So, uh....”

Ardeth shakes his head, all too aware of the uncertain ground on which they stand, “I expect nothing from you....if you wish me to leave.....”

“No!” O'Connell half stands, reaching out to him, that gesture enough to drive the breathe from Ardeth's chest, “No, Ardeth, I....Evy's right.” 

Ardeth swallows, forcing himself to take another breath. He has no words, for the longest time, he has told himself that this was beyond him. He has been happy for them and content with his lot. 

He knows not what to do with this, a dream handed to him by a ghost. 

“Ardeth,” O'Connell shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to draw Ardeth close. “If it weren't for Evelyn, if I hadn't thought you unavailable, I might have made different choices.” Ardeth remembers the feel of O'Connell's hand on his shoulder, merely a day ago, the warmth and ease they have. It should not be so with a man he has seen so little of, who he knows only from intense battles.

“I have no wish to harm your family.” Ardeth forces the words out, he respects the O'Connell's deeply, he would rather have them as friends than have them be cold acquaintances. 

O'Connell smiles, shaking his head, “You won't.” He laughs a little, shaking his head, obviously caught in a memory, “We've talked about you, about how I feel about you, and there's a lot left unsaid between us, all of us.”

Ardeth kneels, without thinking about it, wanting to be on eye level with the other man. It is not a conversation to have with him standing over the other man, fully dressed while O'Connell bares himself. 

O'Connell reaches out and runs a thumb down the side of Ardeth's face, drawing a shiver down his spine. “But there's time for words later.” He leans forward, one hand slipping around the back of Ardeth's neck, the other grabbing a handful of his robes. 

The kiss is fierce, and messy, more like the fumbles of Ardeth's youth. He laughs into O'Connell's mouth, pushing forward so the other man moves back onto the bed, allowing him to follow. He has as much desire to be on his knees as to be standing. 

“I mistook you for a more skilled lover.”

It surprises a laugh out of the other man, and it is some time before they fall into the sleep of the truly exhausted. 

Battle worn and sated. 

-

Ardeth wakes to sunlight through a window and a warm body by his side. There is a moment of contentment before reality draws in. 

There is still much to discuss, negotiations to have. 

He will not leave his home, can not give up his duty, not even if it means his happiness. 

He can only imagine the conditions the O'Connell's may have, as it was, O'Connell have seemed firmly against his fated journey, though he had defeated the Scorpion King. That however, had been driven by his family's well being.

The silence is brief, the pair of them laying awake, neither speaking, then they move, O'Connell's hand brushes down his arm briefly, and he shivers but focuses instead on gathering his clothing. 

They dress and join the others for a late meal, light conversation over a better meal than Ardeth has had in days. 

Jonathan takes Alex to explore Izzy's compound more, exchanging a single look with his sister over the table. Alex seems none the wiser and it is a relief. 

Ardeth contemplates leaving himself, allowing husband and wife time, but Evy's gentle hand on his arm stills him. 

“This effects us all.” She says once she is sure he isn't going to leave. “We need to talk, honestly and openly, and decide what comes next.”

It takes hours, the sky edging to darkness by the time they have managed to persuade O'Connell, Rick, not to deny any part of himself. He even finds himself telling Evy of the records of the Medjai, and the women who are it's keepers. 

That earns him a knowing smile from Rick, and he ducks his head to hide a rare flush. Evy's expression is contemplative for a moment, then she smiles looking at him through her eye lashes. 

“There is much for you to learn.” Ardeth tells Rick, reaching out to touch the mark on the other man's wrist.

Rick frowns, eyeing the tattoo, “The Scorpion King is gone.” 

Ardeth chuckles, “The desert hides many secrets, many threats.” He rubs a thumb over the darkened skin, “There is more to this mark, just as there was more to Evy's dreams.”

Evy hums, “I don't have much of her memories, not on the surface, but it feels like, if I press, I could access more.”

Ardeth reaches out to her then, gripping her arm with his other hand. “Do not, please, there are lessons for you to learn as well.”

They exchange a look over his head, then look at him expectantly.

“What do you suggest?” Evy asks, eyes bright with the idea of what might lie ahead.

“Come with me, to my home village, join the Medjai.”

-

His mother stands at the edge of the village to greet them, hair loose and robes formal. She smiles up at him, laughs when he dismounts so they are on eye level, and he remembers a childhood spent learning from this woman. 

He half turns towards the other camels, half with passengers the others weighed down with what they had decided they needed. He had spent a long month, in the desert with his men, waiting for word, settling his replacement for however long it took to settle the O'Connell's.

The men had joked, warm towards the strange American and the Librarian, teased him that it had taken him so long to settle that he'd felt the need to take more than one. 

In the O'Connel's world, Ardeth knows, this would not be so accepted. 

“Mother, these...” He starts only to fall silent as she grips his arm, gaze warm, and steps past him to meet Evy, clearly surprising Rick. 

“You read from the book?” His mother's voice is cool, shoulders set. 

Evy nods, “I did, and I made sure to see the Mummy laid,” she half laughs, “twice now.”

His mother considers her for a long moment, then Rick, then Alex, who she drags off his camel for a more thorough examination. “They will do.” She comments mock briskly before stepping up to Rick's camel and gripping the harness holding one finger up to Rick, “He is my most useful son, if you break him, I shall break you.”

Rick nods, eyes wide, swaying a little in place, “Understood ma'am.”

She casts one last critical eye over them before she laughs, shaking her head and reaching out to ruffle Alex's hair. “I am happy to have another grandchild, small and pale as he may be.” 

Alex makes a face and ducks away from her, to the amusement of his parents. 

His mother touches his cheek briefly, smile warm, before she motions for them to follow her in, past the curious sentries. “Come, you have much to learn.”

-

It takes only a single night in their new tent before he finds himself sharing a bed with two. 

Nia teases him the next morning, commenting that he noise had kept them up, with their tent being so close to the one he'd grown up in. 

His sisters comment on his late start, and how easy he has had it, just like a Medjai man, having no part in a child's upbringing until he is half grown. 

He takes the teasing, it is a small price to pay for a warm bed and the loving embrace of others. 

-

It is no surprise that his mother takes Evy under her wing. 

Their records are the stuff of dreams, and he suspects they will loose her to them for long stretches at a time. Alex on the other hand is clearly torn; to learn how to fight, or to learn more at his mother's knee. 

Nia solves the boy's dilemma, dragging him from the tent early in the morning and setting him to train with the younger children. Rick trails after them, loitering on the outside of the ring, seemingly entranced by the activity. 

Ardeth in turn escorts Evy to the vaults then heads to the rings, through he hangs back, watching Rick rather than the children. 

“He is a fine man.” His mother stands at his side, joining him in his new favourite duty. Watching over his trainee. She claims his arm, leaning into him. “I am glad that you have found happiness.”

“Despite the path it required me to follow.” He asks, and she laughs, nodding. 

“You path has always been difficult. From your entry into the world, to bringing them here.” Her voice is fond, approving. 

“He has some way to go, if he is to become a true Medjai.” He comments, watching as Rick follows the complicated moves that Nia has started into, aware of her audience. He stumbles half way through the second. 

“He has a fine teacher, and companions.” His mother replies. “As I had.”

Ardeth smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this became more an exploration of the Medjai via Ardeth than Rick. I never saw any of the cartoon series so this is entirely based on what's in the films. It's also a little bit strange, even for me. I split the parts to match the way the story ended up flowing, and the middle is very Ardeth heavy. 
> 
> It struck me that Ardeth never questions Evy, or views her as that much of a damsel in distress. I also wondered where it was all written and who took care of it - from that was born the learned women folk of the Medjai, keepers of all knowledge.


End file.
